


marigold

by littlevodika



Series: codywan fanfiction [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: A Horny Mess To Be Specfic, But A Helpful Sassy Bitch, Cody Draws Obi-Wan's Nudes, Cody's A Brooding Artsy Type, He's Got A Soft Spot For His General, Hella Skilled Artist, I'm Bitter About Qui-Gon Again, M/M, Masturbation, Obi-Wan Has A Mini-Existential Crisis, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Obi-Wan Kenobi is a Mess, Steamy, That's Not How The Force Works, The Force, The Force Is A Sassy Bitch, The Force Is An Art Critic, They End Up Making Things Worse, Waxer & Co. Try To Help, erotic art, kinda sexual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:15:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24090430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlevodika/pseuds/littlevodika
Summary: cody’s sketchbook is lost. he knew there was a valid reason he never wrote his name in the cursed thing when his brothers tell him they took it to general kenobi. obi-wan, however, doesn’t need a name inside the cover to tell him the identity of the book’s owner.or:cody draws plenty of sweet (and a few erotic) pictures of his general, and obi-wan rather enjoys them.
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Series: codywan fanfiction [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1735258
Comments: 12
Kudos: 176





	1. sketchbook lost

**Author's Note:**

> i was inspired to write this by the fact i could never find the right color to describe the markings of the 212th… until i remembered the existence of marigold. it clearly wasn’t just yellow, and orange was just wrong for me bc all i could think was “oh ahsoka’s orange”, but the happy medium of the two brought me peace. this got waaaay steamier than i intended it to, but whoooooo damn. and for some reason i just see cody as the brooding artist type, don’t ask why.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cody's lost his sketchbook. his brothers stumble upon one and think it belongs to the general, who happens to be the muse of the sketchbook's true owner.

cody’s pencil flits across the page, working as fast as his brain can make it go. the campaign was tense and he hadn’t been able to pick up his book in days. his fingers were itching for it, itching to create something amidst all this destruction. cody happily obliged, quickly letting himself get lost in his thoughts for the first time in a while.

he picked up the hobby after wandering the coruscanti shopping centers several months ago, admiring the way the twi’lek woman in her booth was able to cancel out the world around her as she painted. she sold a wide variety of art supplies, some of them things he’d never even heard of. he picked up an oil pastel from a small tray, grimacing at the way the slightest touch stained his hand. he wiped it on his armor and kept browsing, only pausing to inspect a handmade leather sketchbook that had a practical elegance about it.

she had made the entire book by hand, she said, right down to killing the bantha whose hide made the cover and closing straps. he jumped on it when she said the price was something within his range, though rather unsure where this new, unbridled enthusiasm came from. the offer was extended to emboss something on it but the commander denied despite his appreciation of the intricate designs shown to him. anything that could mark the book as his could get him into plenty of trouble if the wrong person found it.

he bought it with a smile and she extended a set of rather expensive-looking map pencils. he tried to dissuade her, saying that he wouldn’t feel right to be gifted something that she could instead make credits on. she insisted by threat of stun that he would take them (threatened with a smile of course; cody knew the woman wouldn’t stun him but was quite stubborn about not letting him leave without the pencils). he begrudgingly accepted her gift, but not without sneaking a few credits onto the table because his conscience wouldn’t have felt right otherwise.

he soon learned that painting wasn’t his favorite medium (painting his armor was a necessary nuisance in his opinion), but it worked in a pinch if that’s all he had available. oil pastels, however, were the bane of his existence. they were messy and smeared everywhere and left too much evidence that cody used them. no, the pencils were much safer and easier to hide, the only remnants they left being easily disposable sheddings left from sharpening.

cody knew the things he wanted to draw long before he started. the images that he kept to himself were the ones that pulled him through some of the most difficult situations he’s lived through, and he was almost excited to put those thoughts somewhere else when he snuck the pencils and book to his bunk later that evening. his first drawing was sloppy, cody having very minimal skills to work with on his first try. no worry, they’d improve with time.

his escapes from reality were so taboo and against so many regulations, that if the wrong person heard them, cody would face reconditioning if not execution.

the one thing he _wouldn’t_ be facing if his secret came out would be his general; cody wouldn’t be able to stomach it. the shame would be too immense, and the fear that his general would look at him like a new enemy to face, a foe to overpower consumed him. cody’s heart wouldn’t be able to handle it if his general gave him that look.

(cody has thought long and hard about the consequences of his thoughts, and if he was found out he would prefer execution to reconditioning. at least then, his final thoughts would be about the general he’d give his life for, the general he would _live_ for even if the world seemed to crumble around him. reconditioning meant losing himself and losing the love he carried for his general, and cody _would not stand for that._ )

it’s been lonely for cody, carrying something so large by himself. he’d spend his nights reading far too deep into the lingering touches from his general, the softness of his voice as he would lull cody to sleep with the force when running on fumes during grueling campaigns. it had gotten to the point where cody wanted to visit the coldest places possible so he’d have an excuse to be closer to the man, able to imagine that the arm around his torso and head on his chest meant far more than keeping warm in the night.

thoughts like that were dangerous to have, but cody’s survived plenty of danger in his lifetime (look at who his general is for kriff’s sake, and let’s not forget about his general’s _padawan_ ) to know the difference between danger that is and isn’t worth the risk.

obi-wan kenobi? worth every risk cody could ever take.

so he taught himself to draw, spending hours after writing reports calling the face of his beloved general to the front of his mind and sketching from memory. he used the back of his sketchbook for the daunting task of learning, for discovering ways to make colors that he didn’t simply have in one pencil, saving the front for the actual work.

it took longer than cody would have liked to admit to concoct his own method of getting his jedi’s eye color perfect, but when he did everything came together. that precarious blend of periwinkle and cobalt shined like the eyes he wished would notice him for more than his military prowess.

he kept his art private for obvious reasons and didn’t even hint at the idea of having a hobby outside of the GAR. it wasn’t that hobbies were a bad thing (especially not when under a general that respects your personhood like general kenobi does), cody just saw his own hobby as a weakness. an indulgence into something he could never obtain.

aranar and some of the other medics sewed and knitted a variety of things, from blankets to cloth grips for blasters to bandages when they were down on supplies. heturam, when provided even the most meager ingredients, was one of the best cooks cody’s ever seen and sometimes teaches lessons on finding food sources on unfamiliar planets. there were even groups of brothers that would get together and paint their armor however they liked, some adding mando’an phrases or a cartoon loth-cat with clanker parts strewn around it (he laughs to himself when he recalls how his vod tooka got his name, the poor guy being attacked during leave on coruscant while just minding his business).

unlike his brothers who took up hobbies that could help them in the field or lighten their spirits, cody was making doe eyes at general kenobi that would never come to anyone’s rescue. no amount of cody ogling the jedi’s ass would help anyone, in combat or otherwise.

he wanted that unity with his brothers, he truly did. it just seemed so out of reach, close enough to taste it but not enough to sink his teeth into.

cody’s thoughts didn’t do right by his art this time as he heard a ridiculous amount of banging about, the commander scowling at the page when a jagged line went diagonal through the general’s robes. “har’chaak!” it was going to take time to correct that particular error, time that cody didn’t really have right then because he could hear trapper and jester showcasing exactly the kind of di’kut they are from outside his temporary quarters and getting alarmingly closer.

in seconds their fists were pounding craters into the door and cody grimaced at the noise. he opened it and stood aside, having the sense to not be in front of their fists when pounding like that (it was a lesson learned the hard way, unfortunately). they stumbled in, clearly having been leaning a bit too much against the door. “what do you two want?”

“boil’s on our ass! we need protection!”  
“please, commander!”

cody could hear boil’s footsteps pounding against the floor now, his voice yelling for the two of them to face him like men. cody shooed the men out of his quarters and for some reason was going to help them despite the fact their commotion messed up his latest drawing.

they made it outside of their current base of operations on a planet cody didn’t particularly care for and was somewhat successful in relocating the dumbasses that didn’t have the sense to be inconspicuous when doing dumb shit. yes, the two were found eventually, but the success was in the fact that cody wasn’t with them when it happened.

heaving a sigh, cody tread back to his former resting place, content to finish his art in peace. when cody arrived, he didn’t see his sketchbook on the desk he occupied minutes before. that’s weird, he just had the thing. maybe he laid it somewhere else when his vod barged in. so cody scanned his room for the sketchbook, wondering where in the sith hells it could be.

cody couldn’t find his sketchbook. this wasn’t good at all. not for him, not for his general, and especially not for the 212th. if the wrong man got ahold of it and _opened the damned thing,_ cody didn’t want to imagine the consequences. he’d become a mockery of a commander sweet on his jetti. he’d be sent back to kamino for either euthanization or execution. cody would never be with his brothers of the 212th again. he wouldn’t be with his _general_ again.

this would simply not do.

the fear clouding his mind wanted desperately to run out and ask every brother there if they had seen a simple looking bantha leather sketchbook, a little worn but in good condition, and hope to the gods they don’t ask what’s inside. but the logic cleared away the fog, reminding him that if he ran out there like a tip-yip with its head cut off it would look mighty suspicious, and make someone want to open it out of curiosity if they hadn’t already.

he’s been approached with lost items before and he was always trusted to get them back to their correct owners. he’d simply have to wait and hope that no one opened it before bringing it to him to see if he knew its owner, this time should be no different. right?

————

“where did this thing come from?” trapper’s fingers slide across the worn cover of the sketchbook. the man could tell it was quite loved and well-used by its owner… whoever that was.

waxer, boil, and jester were just as confused as he. none of them recognized it from anywhere, unable to tie it to a fellow clone that liked to draw. there was no name on either side nor the spine, and nothing about it really set it apart from the average sketchbook. maybe the owner’s name was inside-

“don’t open it!” waxer shouted, noticing the way his brother inspected it, trying to find the owner.

jester was puzzled. “well why not? we gotta figure out whose it is to give it back, and their name is probably inside.”

“they probably wouldn’t appreciate us going through it! there might be private stuff in it!” waxer protested, baffled that neither of them thought about respecting the owner’s privacy.

boil agreed with both men, and came up with a plan to both respect the owner’s privacy and be able to get it back to where it belonged. “look, if we only open the covers, there will be minimal risk of us seeing anything they wouldn’t want someone to find. everyone wins.”

trapper and jester likes the sound of this plan. waxer, though, was still unsure.

“what if we accidentally see something? what-”  
“look, only a complete di’kut would put something they want to hide on the first page. there’s not going to be anything bad there. the third page, maybe. but since we’re not going that far, it won’t be an issue.”

this seemed to soothe the bald man’s conscience. “well, let’s at least check the back cover first.”

trapper agreed, slowly opening the back cover while his brothers huddled around him. there was nothing on the page or the back cover to assist in their search for information, merely swatches of different shades of blue that had the names of the colors used scrawled in rushed mando’a. it clearly belonged to a member of the 212th. he then flipped the book open to the front cover and didn’t think to cover the first page with his hand (which would’ve been smart just in case the owner of this book was enough of a dumbass to put something private on the first page).

what no one expected to find was a stunning pencil drawing of their general bathing in a creek, his body lounging across the smooth rocks while water poured around him from above. splashes of water against rocks concealed what would have been his privates, but no such clever concealing was taken when drawing their jedi’s chiseled chest, muscles defined yet relaxed in the private setting. his hair was dripping wet, and there were tiny droplets falling from his beard. his hands were tousling his hair, presumably to let the water work its way through to his scalp, his arms possessing the same definition his abdomen received from the artist. the only color seen was the water, a very faint blue that could easily be mistaken for white by an untrained eye. what was even more stunning was the look of ecstasy their general had been given, clearly escaping from the duties of war through the watery paradise he bathed in. he looked like more than a jedi, and far more than a general; he looked like a god sunbathing comfortably in his realm.

none of them could recollect seeing something so beautiful in all their years. they could easily discern the artist’s eye for creativity, the painstaking care taken to perfect every detail. there was clearly passion for the art and they could feel it deep within their bones. it settled within their very being in a way nothing had before, and that gave them one conclusion: this magnificence had to be the work of the force.

“do you think-”  
“it’s the general’s. no doubt.”  
“he’ll know if we’ve seen the picture!”  
“if we tell him it was an accident he’ll know we’re telling the truth.”  
“see? nothing to worry about. now let’s get this back to its jedi.”

\--------

when obi-wan was presented with the sketchbook and told that they didn’t mean to spy on his work, he was intrigued. he had no clue why the men believed it to be his, seeing as he had never done anything to lead them to believe he was an artist of any kind. then the book was placed in his hands and obi-wan nearly had palpitations from the sheer amount of the force radiating from the thing. this feeling must have been what brought trapper, waxer, boil, and jester to his quarters with eyes nearly glazed from the power. they thought it was a jedi thing. very few times did obi-wan ever want his dear friend quin’s abilities of retrocognition, but this was one of those times.

denying ownership of the book would only prolong its return to the true owner and very likely subject its contents to viewings that obi-wan had a feeling would deeply perturb its owner. so obi-wan expertly faked a smidge of embarrassment as he feigned gratefulness for “his” art to be safely returned to him, not even needing to use the force to get his message across (he knew it wouldn’t have worked anyway, he trained his men tirelessly to be able to resist mind tricks far better than the kaminii did).

the men left with smiles, relieved they helped get the property into the correct hands. now it was time for obi-wan to do some searching of his own. now that he was alone with the thing, there was something so strangely _familiar_ about the book that pulled him to it.

obi-wan knew that looking into the sketchbook was a blatant violation of privacy, a show of disrespect for the artist that clearly didn’t want to be found, but the undeniable pull from the force told him that he _must_ inspect it. _flick through its pages, let the art take you away. that’s the only way you’ll find the identity of whom it truly belongs to,_ it told him. bracing himself for whatever he was about to see, he opened it to the first page that his men rambled on about when they first entered.

_oh._

the emotions poured into this drawing would have knocked him off his feet if he weren’t already sitting in the chair by his desk. lightly grazing his fingers across the age amplified the feelings, the force screaming at him at a pitch almost too powerful for him to bear. that was it, no more picture-touching for obi-wan. just looking, he could handle that.

he took his time examining every drawing, letting the feelings wash over him like the creek water did his likeness on the first page.

there were a few of just his profile, one barely illuminated save for the telltale glow of a holomap. detailed backgrounds of switches and toggles and maps clearly placed him in the war room of the negotiator. obi-wan could merely look into the eyes of the pictures and know that his determination was caught quite effectively. the force affirmed this with a gentle hum. _since when did the force become an art critic?_

he continued his perusing, letting himself appreciate the fact he was the muse of this spectacular artist. it gave him a feeling of usefulness of a much more pure nature than being a general needed by his men, a negotiator needed by the republic, a jedi needed by his former padawan and grandpadawan or master on the council by the order.

 _scratch that one part out. you know, the one with the word_ “pure,” _because that was the complete opposite of this next page._

obi-wan was overcome with a surge of lust as he admired the sketch of his naked body, no punches held when it came to detail. they made a generous (but correct, he told himself with a smirk) assumption about his length and added details that held the same adoration for his body that a lover would. he could identify individual beads of sweat and lover’s marks littering his neck, chest, and bare thighs as well as precum leaking from his tip, dripping down his length.

he soon noticed a second person in his drawing who was just as naked as he. with one hand tangled in his hair and the other splayed over obi-wan’s body (it was strange how he didn’t notice them there moments ago) possessively, their face nuzzled into his neck with a content smile gracing their features. clearly this was the person that put the marks on obi-wan’s body, the one that brought the drawing of him to the brink of orgasm. he inspected the face further and it took him less than a second to identify the lover his likeness had taken.

it was _cody._ it was quite obviously cody, the jagged scar almost cradling his left eye doing nothing in the realm of concealing his identity. obi-wan was a fool, a complete and utter fool. 

_how in the nine hells did he not recognize the force signature of his cody radiating off the book until now?!_ the force told him that it was quite simple, that obi-wan was too caught up in embracing the drawings that he didn’t even think to feel the familiarity of his dear commander. this new knowledge didn’t do anything to ease the throbbing of his cock; it did quite the opposite, really, and obi-wan didn’t know how to proceed with this newfound attraction for his commander.

or maybe perhaps this attraction wasn’t as new as obi-wan wanted to believe.

he recollected his every interaction with cody, trying to find a specific time where things changed to trace his steps. his first meeting with cody was simple, nothing too grand. it wasn’t until after the battle of christophsis that cody seemed to even relax around him, finally willing to not call him “general” every time cody addressed him. their mission on ryloth seemed to instill the general’s intentions to the 212th, that he genuinely cared about his men and was quite different from the jetti some of their brothers were under. this was a step in the right direction, but obi-wan still couldn’t find a time to say “this is what caused this attraction” and the state of unknowing was about to eat him alive.

the force was clearly eating this up, becoming a spectator in the jedi master’s failing efforts to control the arousal building at the thought of his commander doing everything the drawing shows and more. quickly using the force to seal his quarters shut he sent privacy and leave me alone into the force to ensure no one would walk in on him in such a vulnerable state. he freed his cock from its confines, shuddering as he envisioned darker hands jacking him off and a husky voice whispering dirty thoughts in his ear.

obi-wan kenobi has it bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mando’a translations:  
> aranar - defend, used here as a name  
> heturam - literally, mouthburn. known as a sought-after state of intense burning in the mouth brought about by very spicy food (mandos loved their spicy foods). used here as a name  
> har’chaak - damnit  
> di’kut - idiot; literally, someone who forgets to put their pants on  
> kaminii - kaminoan; sometimes seen as kaminiise  
> jetti- jedi  
> ner’jetti - my jedi


	2. sketchbook found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cody finds out where his sketchbook is, and obi-wan dives deeper into his own feelings and some past trauma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter got deeper than i thought it would, to be completely honest. it got away from me & even though this was the chapter i intended on having the big moment, it didn’t pan out that way. i’m even happier that it wasn’t, to be completely honest. it's a bit shorter because of my accidental making of third chapter, but it isn't necessarily a bad thing.

cody tried his best to keep his composure as he approached his vod. his brothers were observant and they know cody just as well as they know themselves. they’d be quick to sense a problem if there was even the slightest reason given for them to believe it. he kept going over his words in his head, hoping that spontaneous combustion couldn’t be caused by insurmountable fear and embarrassment. moving himself to sit between waxer and jester.

“what’s new, commander?”  
“i was approached by a shiny about a lost sketchbook, you seen anything of the sort?”  
“nah, the only one we found was general kenobi’s, we took it to him about ten minutes ago. did you know he could draw?”  
“yeah, there was this one really awesome one of him on a waterfall and-”  
“sketch, that’s not our business to talk about!”

_oh no. oh_ fuck _no. general kenobi had his sketchbook._ there was a plethora of horrible ways for this to go, but for the general himself to have the cursed thing? he was getting decommissioned for sure.

his brothers seemed to notice the new tension in cody’s everything, boil asking if he was okay. “yeah,” cody lied through his teeth, “i’m good, just trying to think of other places the shiny’s book could be. i’ll catch up with you guys later.” cody couldn’t leave them fast enough and he hoped that he didn’t look as freaked the kriff out as he was on the inside.

he knew that if he went to the general’s quarters right away it would be extremely incriminating, so he went back to his commander’s quarters and hoped whatever end he’d meet, it’d be swift.

\--------

obi-wan finished with a guttural moan of cody’s name, the post-orgasm relief settling deep within his bones. he sat in his chair for a moment to revel in the ecstasy he hadn’t felt in far too long. his mind was much clearer than it has been since the fogginess of wartime settled over him and for a moment he was grateful. this clarity soon became more of a curse than a blessing as the gravity of his actions weighed on his chest like the cyborg claws of grievous. _he just got off to an erotic drawing of him and his commander._

even more than that, it was _drawn by said commander,_ which now that he thought about it, was quite confusing. what exactly were cody’s feelings for him? was he just a muse or a dirty dream? was he _anything_ to the commander?

obi-wan flinched when he felt a hand slap the back of his neck. he was alone, who could’ve- _**you’re an absolute idiot, kenobi. go back to the first page and touch it, you’ll see how cody feels.**_ seems that the force has quite the attitude- ow! don’t talk back to the force, thanks for the reminder.

before doing what the force was adamant on him doing, he cleaned his mess briskly and hoped his men would spare him for these brief moments. no one needed to be told there was no dignity to be found between a general and his men while holding a rag covered in his own seed.

he was able to return himself to a state of order in record time, curious hands grabbing back at the sketchbook that had brought him a release with intensity he’d never felt. he started back at the beginning, unknowing what he’d find after the welcome distraction and knowing that he’d jack himself raw if he found another of the same nature. these thoughts were shameful, obi-wan knew this, but part of him couldn’t find it in him to care.

the force jolted obi-wan back to the task at hand, seeming to tell the jedi that he hadn’t been granted access to this journal for the sake of his dick. he sighed, slumping onto his bunk and reopening the book gingerly.

_**touch the page, master jedi.**_ he shook his head, his mind remembering the force that had pummeled him minutes earlier. _**dammit kenobi, do it!**_ fingertips grazed the paper almost without his permission and this time, the feelings didn’t topple him. they nearly overwhelmed him, that was expected, but he was still able to register the fervor with which the book burned.

obi-wan’s doubts about cody's opinion of him faded quickly. yes he may have been a muse, but there was so much more than that. there was the affection he felt earlier making its presence known once again. he decided to let himself meditate on the energies of the book, allowing each one to make its presence known

_admiration_

_possessiveness_

_affection_

_precision_

_unbridled care_

_**love.** so much love that obi-wan didn’t know what to do with it all._

cody loved him. his precious, doting commander loved him. commander cody loved obi-wan kenobi.

he had to repeat it several more times, still not fully believing the truth that slapped him in the face. this was highly unexpected and to be frank, obi-wan had no idea where to go from here. it wasn’t like he could find cody, give him his sketchbook, and confess to him the sinful way obi-wan imagined those lips leaving bites in the throes of passion or the fanning of hot breath on his collarbone during the soft quiet of peaceful solitude. he couldn’t very well tell him that he had formed an attachment to him the likes of which he hadn’t felt since he was a padawan on the run with satine, since cerasi.

there was nowhere to go from here, nowhere for these feelings of attachment to go outside of himself. part of him wanted to send them to the force and pretend that he didn’t see the damned sketchbook that brought to light emotions that he would have rather repressed and ignored for the rest of his pathetic existence.

but he was hesitant to send them out into the force. no, they deserve something better than that sendoff. maybe the force was telling him that it didn’t want these feelings, that obi-wan needed to keep them.

he decided to ask the force. _“why would you want me to keep these feelings for him if you know what the code says about them?”_

_**why do you believe the code is so against loving someone the way you love your commander?** _

obi-wan sputtered at the accusation.

_**humor me, kenobi. tell me why you believe love for another being is something a jedi shouldn’t have.** _

if the force tells you to do something, you do it. so he tries to remember the first time he’s told that he can’t allow himself to love someone as unabashedly as the way he loved cody. his mind takes him to melida/daan, to cerasi and the young. how he left the order to fight by her side and help bring freedom and peace to her people.

how her death broke him. the way he struggled to find something to live for despite accomplishing the goal he and cerasi strived for was a trial he was woefully unprepared for. so he returned to the order with his tail between his legs, to his master who was willing to take him back. that was when qui-gon was less lenient on attachments, on affection, on love. when his lessons on controlling his emotions became more tiring than those on his lightsaber forms and their sparring sessions.

_“because people i love, people that love me the same, get hurt. cerasi, qui-gon… i don’t want that list to grow.”_

_**so you push them away from you and hurt them differently because of your own selfish and unfounded fears. fears instilled into you in place of lessons about the many ways you can show love that don’t involve fighting and death.** _

it had never been explained to him like that. that he was throwing his loved ones under the speeder to keep his own toxic ideals intact. maybe they needed him and when they tried to reach out, obi-wan turned them away in their darkest hour to keep his own head above water.

the idea filled him with so much guilt. _“how many people did i turn away in the name of self-preservation?”_ more importantly, _“how can i make up for all the damage i’ve done? where do i even begin?”_

_**start with your cody. he’s the most able to help you set a path of repentance. and look, here he comes now!** _

the force silences itself abruptly as obi-wan hears three concise knocks on the door. they were from cody, no doubt, because now he was actually focusing on the vibrant force signature tinged with worry.

this repentance thing was going to start quicker than he thought. oh fun.

**Author's Note:**

> i don't have the patience to change the word "paper" in every occasion to flimsi so paper stays. they don't say "flimsiwork" now do they?


End file.
